


May I Come In?

by wcdarling



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Conversations, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Genetic Engineering, Genetically Engineered Beings, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wcdarling/pseuds/wcdarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak is not a man to hesitate. But when his friend Bashir disappears from the station for three days and he goes to visit him at his quarters to find out why, he hesitates at the door. Is it really his business to intrude? When he does finally press the button and is let in, Bashir seems to hesitate as well. But when he begins to talk, he lets spill. Spoilers for "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	May I Come In?

**Author's Note:**

> Well, finally doing my first DS9 fic, despite total obsession with reading it and lots of writing in other fandoms. Just had to find the story I wanted to start with. Inevitably, I'm starting out with one of my favorite topics in all DS9, which I think most will gather from the spoiler alert, but which I will hold off getting into until the End Notes. 
> 
> A few other notes:
> 
>   * This story is available [as a podfic (MP3)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7664641) here on AO3, so you can listen.
>   * You can read my AO3 profile [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7458433). It's more representative than what you see if you just click on my username, as that shows the really old Vamp. Chron. fic I've been entering. And not my other stuff since, say, 2000. 
>   * Big thanks to [Kelimian (TheInfinityGap)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInfinityGap/pseuds/Kelimian) for offering to be my beta. I didn't have any beta for this fandom and I happened to mention in a comment that I was working on something and... well... I got lucky! 
>   * I wrote pretty much all of the original draft of this story on my iPhone while commuting to and from work on bus and train. So, Pro Tip: If you can't find time to write, try that out. I did do the later editing on a laptop.
>   * It's pretty funny I'm putting out this genfic considering I am mostly into G/B slash, slash, slash, but hey, in this case, nope. 
>   * Please let me know if you see any errors, however small or however huge.
> 

> 
> Ratings & Warnings:  
> Big spoilers for ["Dr. Bashir, I Presume?"](http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Doctor_Bashir,_I_Presume_\(episode\)) No slash, no sex, no nothing.
> 
> And coming soon...  
> As a bit of a teaser... OK, totally as a teaser, I want to mention that I am prepping to launch a Garashir Tumblr. Right now I'm working on a spreadsheet of all the fics I've gathered. I think I have around 250. Maybe more? I want to do my own blog bc in gathering the fics, I had to work way, way too hard as the blogs and sites and archives were all over the place and many of them were either very, very old or in formats that were impossible to properly search. Plus they'd have user-submitted stuff and I just want to put MY favorites and MY recs on there. So... follow me here on AO3 or message me and I'll let you know when that Tumblr is posted.

Garak rarely hesitated. Unless the hesitation was strategic of course; waiting for exactly the right moment to aim a verbal dart or a disrupter, or when to issue the blackmail threat he'd had at the ready. But this was not that type of hesitation. This hesitation had, he reflected later with hindsight, a more prosaic cause: a momentary case of nerves. 

The time was 20:30. He stood outside Bashir's quarters, an isolinear data rod in one hand, his other hand hovering over the security access panel, as it had been for nearly a minute. All he had to do was press a button and the system would dutifully announce the arrival of a visitor. And yet, he held off. 

Well. This simply would not do. If he stood in the hall much longer, he ran the risk of being observed. He pressed the button. 

A simple, if unauthorized, check of station security systems had already revealed that Bashir was in his quarters, so Garak was therefore surprised when there was no immediate response. No "Enter," no swish of the door after a few seconds, followed by a friendly greeting by a bright-eyed, eager young doctor. No, instead, there was nearly a full minute with no response at all. Perhaps his procrastination at the security panel had been justified?

When the door did open, Garak found himself facing a somewhat unfamiliar sight. Bashir's hair was slightly unkempt and the bottom half of his face was covered in short whiskers. What was the human term for it? _Five o'clock shadow_? Yes, that was it. The only other time Garak had seen Bashir sporting stubble was at the Dominion prison camp, although this version was not as pronounced. Garak suspected the whiskers had been growing for a mere three days rather than a month. 

"Hello, Garak," the doctor greeted him. "Sorry I didn't come to the door right away. I've been—" and here he straightened the collar of his dark button down shirt "—preoccupied." 

"So I gather." Garak gestured with his free hand towards the room's interior. "May I come in?" 

He noted a micro-hesitation on Bashir's part. "Ah... yes." Stepping out of the way, he ushered his Cardassian friend inside. "It's not as tidy as usual, I'm afraid. Wasn't expecting visitors... but —"

"That's perfectly all right," Garak interrupted gently. “It's not as if you invited me."

They were now standing in Bashir's living area and Garak could see what the doctor had been apologizing for. PADDs, data rods, small bottles of what he presumed were spirits, and physical copies of photographs were scattered over the coffee table and end table. A few items were even on the floor. A glance toward the kitchen revealed it to be in a similar state of disarray. As Bashir sat down on the sofa, Garak noticed a furry, four-limbed representation of an animal tucked in the corner, beside a throw blanket. From the wear and tear on the fabric, it looked like a children's toy. 

Relocating a couple more PADDs from the seat of the armchair to the coffee table, Garak gave his friend a steady look. "Doctor, when was the last time you went out?"

Bashir leaned back into the sofa and sighed. "A while."

"Clearly."

The doctor offered no further comment, but merely drew his eyes across the mess on the table. 

Hmm. Prodding was clearly necessary. "What's wrong? Are you ill?" 

In reaction, Bashir huffed and met Garak's eyes with a piercing look. "Don't ask questions you already know the answers to." 

Garak was genuinely nonplussed. "But that's just it, doctor. I _don't_ know the answers. I've certainly tried to get them, but nobody will tell me." 

Still Bashir declined to offer any input. 

"After noting your complete absence from the station the past three days — the Promenade, the Infirmary, the Replimat, any of your usual haunts — this afternoon, I finally went to one of your colleagues and asked. Lieutenant Commander Dax did reveal that you had taken some personal time off but that was all she would tell me. Not why. She said it was your business to share. At dinner time I managed to corner Chief O'Brien and he told me the same thing: any rumors, any facts, I'd have to ask you. So, I'm here to ask. What's happened?"

When Bashir still continued to look but not tell, Garak was forced to continue. “Doctor, I know this breaks the pattern of our friendship. It's a touch... intimate. But I'm genuinely concerned. If you're not actually ill, then you're certainly in dire straits of some sort and as your friend - which I hope I am - I would like to know about it and help, if I can." 

Bashir looked down, sitting with his arms out, hands on knees, head bent down. "All right, Garak. I was going to tell you anyway." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "God. Where to start?" He wearily blew a puff of air towards his unruly hair, which stirred slightly. 

Then, apparently switching gears, he straightened up and glanced to the side, then took hold of the stuffed toy Garak had noted earlier. Holding the toy in his lap, he turned to face Garak.

"This is probably a strange way to begin, but it's at least a beginning. And it's _my choice_. With what just happened, none of it was _my_ choice, and I had no control. So, with that in mind... I'd like you meet Kukalaka." 

Garak eyed the toy intently. It was doubtless based on some Terran animal, probably anthropomorphized. But what was it supposed to tell him about the doctor? 

Before he could ask, Bashir continued. "Kukalaka is what's known as a 'teddy bear.' They've been a popular children's toy on Earth for centuries. They're generally a toy of... psychological comfort. So a child doesn’t feel lonely, so they have ‘someone’ to talk to." As if to demonstrate, he gave the bear a squeeze around its middle. "But children grow up and leave their bears behind."

Garak considered. "But you haven't.” He allowed few moments' pause. "Why?"

The doctor turned the toy to face him and looked down. "Because this bear, this toy, has been with me since I was a child — and has remained more constant, more real than anything I have ever known, including myself."

"I don't—"

"Garak, let me keep going. I just have to think of a way to explain it.”

Not an illness then, Garak realized. A confession?

"Maybe I should just pick an angle that you would understand easily. Imagine that you had a secret, a secret that was threatening not only to you personally but to those you loved, and in order to keep that secret you had to construct a false identity and live in it, possibly for the rest of your life. To do otherwise would leave your life in ruins. So no matter how awful it is and what rules you have to break to keep the ruse going, you do it. But one day you get caught." 

For several seconds Garak could only stare. "This isn't a hypothetical?" 

Bashir shook his head faintly. "I'm afraid not."

“But… what did you do?” Garak was rarely caught flat-footed, but as his mind quickly grappled for possibilities, he came up empty. "I know you're not actually a spy. Did you commit treason? Murder? No.. It can't be that or—" 

"I didn't do anything!" Bashir burst out defensively. "Why would you assume that?"

"Forgive me, doctor." He gestured for him to go on. "I will concede your point that yes, I am familiar with the construction of false identities. But how does that play into whatever predicament you have found yourself in of late? Or the bear, for that matter?"

The doctor relaxed his posture. "Right. Kukalaka." Absently he rubbed one of creature's worn ears. "Well, I suppose I might get to the point. Garak, this bear and I started out life together, but he stayed the same and I didn't." 

The bear was now receiving an extended head rub as the doctor hesitated.

"Go on," Garak softly urged. "I'm listening."

"Okay. Thank you. I… I just had this all ripped out of me, and I didn't want to. Now that I'm actually trying to lay it out... It's harder than I thought. But... okay."

He set Kukalaka back on the sofa.

"First, my name. It's... _Jules_. Not Julian. My parents called me Jules. And when I was a very young boy, when I got this bear, I was Jules." 

The name, Garak noticed, was spoken with some slight difficulty. Distaste? Or long disuse, perhaps?

"Jules was, as I remember, happy, mostly, but by the time he was five or six, he noticed his parents _weren't_ so happy. And his teachers weren't so happy either. Because Jules couldn't do the same sorts of things the other children could. He struggled with learning concepts much younger children had mastered. Naming things, speaking even. He tried, but he just _couldn't_. And he didn't know why."

Seemingly without thinking, Bashir snagged the stuffed bear back into his lap. "Well, one day, Jules' parents explained they were going on a trip far away. It would be very exciting. Would he like that? So off they went and indeed, the family stayed in a place very much like a hotel and suddenly all sorts of things were happening. Most of them centered around Jules." 

The doctor shifted on the sofa to face Garak directly. "They had taken me to Adigeon Prime." 

The name instantly rang a bell. In his work in the Obsidian Order he had certainly come across data and cases concerning this world, well known for its DNA-resequencing expertise and facilities. And for the fact that it was considered off limits to Federation citizens, due to the illegality of its medical specialty. 

For a second time that night, Garak was caught flat-footed.

"You understand?" Bashir asked, after a pause of some seconds. Garak nodded. 

"Good. Because I don't much want to talk about it except to say that I — Jules — didn't understand it. There were all these aliens, doing things with me, _to_ me, and at first it was fun, but then it wasn't. It was... _painful_." He shuddered slightly. "And at the end, after a couple of months, it was over and while I had the same name, they had changed everything about me. My intelligence, memory, hand-eye coordination, reflexes, strength, weight, height — all of it. They had remade me into a... super-human. Not just 'fixed' me to make me normal, no, but created this aberration." 

The anger — and shame — radiating off the doctor was palpable. The trauma of that time, now well over twenty years past, had clearly cast a long shadow.

"Anyway, I had no idea what had happened. Because of everything they had done to my brain and the sheer trauma of it all, I couldn't remember my life before all that clearly. For a while the only thing that made real sense, emotionally, was Kukalaka, who'd been with me in hospital.

"And no one explained it to me. For good reason, too, because the entire thing was illegal, per the Federation. _Very_ illegal. My parents had to create a whole whole new life, cutting all ties with family, friends, jobs, where we used to live, to protect me from anyone guessing what I was or what had been done to me. And I didn't even know any of this."

Garak nodded. The pieces were coming together. He could see the beginning of the web of lies in which Bashir was evidently tangled. 

"You found out at some point, however," he surmised.

"Yes," Bashir replied with bitterness. "From that point on, I was 'brilliant,' top of my class, everything came so easily to me, almost like I was a genius... Or so I _thought_. I thought it was all _me_ , that I had been born that way. 

"But then one day, when I was 15, my parents sat me down and told me. They said they had to because it would impact the choices I made in life. And because if I didn't know what I was, I wouldn't know that I needed to hide it, and if I didn't hide it, I would be caught." 

Garak processed this. "And you've been hiding since."

"Exactly."

"In school." Bashir nodded. "At Starfleet Academy and after?" Another nod. "It's completely illegal to be genetically enhanced and in Starfleet, isn't it?" Garak knew that much for certain. 

"Yes, it is," Bashir replied stiffly. "I'm very stubborn, however, and that’s what I wanted. And by the way, it's also illegal for an Augment, as we are called, to have a medical license or practice medicine within Federation space." 

"So one would have to be quite devious, underhanded, with great acting ability, I'd think, to manage to pass through the checks of university, Starfleet Academy and Medical, then five years of active duty and not get caught," Garak stated, smiling slightly to show he wasn't necessarily chastising his younger friend. 

"Well," Bashir hedged, "yes, you could say that.  I had everything to lose." 

A few moments of silence passed, during which the doctor stared at the coffee table. At length he picked up a slightly dirty glass. "I think I'll fix myself a drink. Want anything?"

Garak eyed the mostly empty bottles on the table. "No, I don't think so. And as for you, do you really think you should continue to indulge like this?"

Now in the kitchen, fussing with the replicator, Bashir chuckled. "You noticed the mess. Yes, well, I did go on a bender, first in a very long time, but I've held off all afternoon, since I intend to go to work tomorrow."

He now returned to the living room with an amber-colored drink with wavy lines in it indicating some sort of sugar solution. "Amaretto sour," he supplied, apparently having noticed Garak's attention. 

"It takes a lot to get me drunk, owing to my—" here Bashir swept his free hand down his body "—particular physiology, if you get my meaning, but I did manage it. This drink isn’t particularly strong, just tasty."

With his more sensitive Cardassian sense of smell, Garak could make out the sweet flavor of the drink from a few feet away. It was not to his taste, more a candy than a proper alcoholic drink. Very human. 

"When was the last time you you went off on one of these drinking sprees?" he asked, opting to return back to the previous topic rather than discuss cross-cultural drink preferences. 

Bashir gazed into his glass. "At a similar low point in my life. Also connected to my enhancements." He rubbed his chin in thought. "Have I ever mentioned to you that I was once engaged? To be married?"

"You had, doctor, but only in passing, as we discussed a human novel and you elaborated courtship rituals." It had been a fascinating discussion. If Bashir had held back in some way, Garak didn't know how. 

"Well, I didn't get into it because it was painful. Back when I was in medical school, I was with a very beautiful woman. She was a dancer. Lucky, lucky me, I thought. I loved her, or thought I did, and it was mutual, and so I proposed. We were engaged and stayed that way, made plans and then... I realized it could never work."

Bashir broke off and inhaled about a third of his cocktail, then appeared to consider his next words. "I realized it wouldn't be fair to her, to be with someone like me, who could never be honest. I could never give her all of myself — my body, my mind, my past. It would be a persona all built on a lie. She was honest, always would be, and I never could be." 

And oh, how Garak could identity with that dilemma. Not that he would admit that to the doctor. 

"To break it off, I told her it was because I was joining Starfleet, headed out into deep space, and she was meant for Earth, for dancing. Also that I wasn't ready to settle down, despite her loveliness and perfection. So... more lies, essentially."

Bashir set down his empty glass. He looked tired — and no wonder, after all this unloading and exposition, Garak realized. He ought to have been more considerate. 

"Doctor," he began, "it occurs to me that if you're going to return to work in the Infirmary tomorrow as you mentioned, you might start on getting freshened up tonight." He rose from the chair. "Take a long shower — with water — take care of your hair, that five o'clock shadow, put on a clean set of night clothes, and come out here again."

Bashir appeared nonplussed. "But why would I do that now when I could do it in the morning?"

"Because in the morning you will be rushed and also if you do it now, you'll be better able to tell me the rest of your story, which I do want to hear, and later you'll sleep infinitely better. How you can sleep with such grizzle on your face I simply can't imagine."

The doctor smirked. "Your argument is persuasive. And the shower does sound alluring." He pulled himself up off the sofa to stand. "But what about you?"

"Ah. Well, I will attempt to sort out this mess you've made in this living room. Quite unsightly. I'll get rid of all the glasses, plates and crumbs, shall I? Sort the bottles?"

"Um... I guess so." Bashir eyes swept over the table. "As for the rest, just stack up the PADDs and papers, I'll put them back myself. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't read them."

Garak put his hands up. "No, no."

"The pictures... I guess I don't mind if you look. Can't be helped really. I'll be interested in seeing if you can work out who's who just by looking."

Garak picked up a couple of empty bottles. "I look forward to it. Now get yourself to your bathroom and don't come back until you look reasonably like the fresh-faced young man we're all used to seeing."

Bashir bowed his head and nodded. "I'll try." He headed towards what Garak presumed was the bedroom, only to stop at the entrance. "And thanks."

As Julian shut the bathroom door, Garak began to tidy. Picking up a few additional bottles and taking them to the small kitchen area, Garak took in the scene. While obviously the doctor had not let things go entirely in the days prior, as there certainly would have been more dishes and food lying about, the countertops were still far from tidy. Half a dozen teacups, a stack of sticky glasses, and small crumb-covered plates made up most of the debris. Cleanup was a simple matter; everything including the bottles was tossed into the recycler, and a quick request to the replicator brought up the appropriate cleaning towel to wipe the counters. 

That done, Garak set about the work of disposing of the rest of the food items similarly, and in a couple of minutes of scuttling back and forth between coffee table and kitchen, he was finished. 

Now he arrived at the interesting part of this self-assigned chore. He'd already wiped down the table surface, so now he picked up all the PADDs he'd piled on the sofa while cleaning up. He counted fourteen in all. Some of them, he could see by the design, were older models. Resisting temptation, he left them alone and instead moved on to the data rods, which numbered about a dozen, and then focused on the miscellaneous written materials. He noted that several of these papers were personal citations and awards, across which large slash marks had been scrawled in heavy black ink. Garak stacked all the papers into a single pile next to the digital files. 

As he quietly gathered up the photographs, some on flat paper, some framed holographic images, Garak noted that he could faintly hear the sound of a water shower. He smiled to himself, knowing he would still have a good bit of time to investigate. 

Bashir had implied it might be difficult to guess who was who in the photos. That might be true, Garak conceded, but it wasn't the case for the first photo in the pile. No, this was clearly a portrait of the doctor's parents. His mother was short, with dark hair and eyebrows, and the same warm brown complexion of her son. Her smile seemed genuine and her eyes, in the moment the picture was taken, seemed kind. Bashir's father, by contrast, was tall, with hair streaked with gray, bushy eyebrows, a smile that seemed forced — as if he'd just been told "Smile!" — and at the moment the picture had been taken, flinty, shifty eyes. Garak would of course have to verify, but just from this image he felt certain Adigeon Prime, and all that came with it, had been the father's doing more than the mother's. 

Moving onward through the stack, he next came upon a mix of photos of the doctor as a young (well, even _younger_ ) man, presumably in medical school and Starfleet Academy. He looked much the same as when they’d first met, although obviously even more wet behind the ears. Thinner too, even if the doctor remained slim years later. The photos, some still, some holographic and animated, showed Bashir smiling and generally looking at ease, but in a few the smile looked strained. Stressful times, no doubt. Learning to perfect a false persona and cover up around bright, observant minds. He probably played racquetball and tennis to escape them, Garak thought idly. Although considering his enhanced reflexes and strength, he’d had to have hidden himself on the playing courts, too. 

It was amongst these photos that he discovered a group of close-ups, including an animated holographic image, of what could only be Bashir’s lady friend. She was, as had been implied, astonishingly lovely, with an open expression and kind eyes, with a mouth that smiled at whoever was taking the picture — presumably Bashir. Yes, she certainly would have been supremely difficult to walk away from. 

While there were no more pictures of the doctor’s parents — interesting, that — Garak did come across a number of photos of Bashir as an awkward teenager. In these images he was even thinner, in some almost gaunt, with eyes that looked a tad sunken. He wondered at some of these; had he learned of his enhancements yet, or not? Was he feverishly following the relentless drive of his mind, or was he agonizing over how to stop himself? Was he more than a little terrified?

Pausing briefly in his perusal, Garak noted that the shower had stopped. He heard the vague noises of movement, perhaps Bashir getting dressed. A little more time then.

Garak was the bottom of the pile, as it turned out, when he came to a photo that caught him up short. It was a young child, about the age of the O’Briens’ daughter Molly, with dark, slightly curly hair. Clearly Julian, only… _not_. His face was more rounded than one would ever have imagined the adult Julian’s to have been. His build was, while not exactly heavy, definitely pudgy. The boy was smiling, with mischievous eyes, and only half-sitting in his chair, as if he would be flying out of it any second to run off. _Jules_. Not Julian.

A minute later, Garak was still contemplating the picture, mouth just slightly agape, when he sensed someone approaching from behind. He quickly slipped Jules to the bottom of the pile and stacked the collection on the coffee table. Mr. and Mrs. Bashir's contrasting smiles glinted upward. 

"I presume you feel better?" he asked, as the doctor stepped into the living room. 

"Yes, thanks for the suggestion." He'd changed into black silk pajamas - finally something exhibiting taste - and his wet hair glistened in the low light. "I feel like a new man."

Although Garak was aware the doctor was kidding, he couldn't resist a gentle prod. "A new man? Well, I suppose that's right, isn't it? You get a chance now to be yourself."

Bashir, now seated on the armchair, looked away and frowned. "I doubt I can ever be that, Garak." He redirected his gaze back. "I've been 'outed,' as it were, so that pressure is off, but I doubt I could or will suddenly switch into Augment mode."

Garak considered. "Have you ever?"

The doctor's face twitched. "Usually only if I thought I could get away with it. If I'm entirely alone. Unmonitored. If it wouldn't show up anywhere in a record that would be scrutinized. On vacation sometimes. But mostly I've learned to do everything I can to conceal it at all times."

"And if you now stopped doing this?" Garak inquired. 

"Ah, well, I haven't gotten to this part of the story yet, but let's just say that although I've been given a reprieve, all is not forgiven." Bashir inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nose. "I suppose it would be obvious from the fact of the Federation ban, but there's a deep-seated prejudice, and fear, against Augments. Among Federation types, most especially Humans. I've received support from staff here, like Miles, but if I suddenly just... _changed_... it'd be like I'd turned into some kind of... _freak_."

Garak leaned over from the sofa. "Don't use that word. Not when I can tell you think it of yourself."

"I don't!" Bashir protested.

Garak waved the words away with a hand. "You do, even if you don't realize it." He locked eyes with the doctor for a moment, challenging him to deny it. He didn't. 

"But let's not linger there. Back to what you were saying. All is not forgiven? What else?" Garak leaned back into the sofa. 

Bashir smoothed back his wet hair. His eyes caught the collections on the table. They settled on the stack of photos. 

"Well, for one thing, my father's in prison now." Bashir rubbed his hand over his eyes briefly. "Two years in prison. Because of Adigeon Prime."

"And he won't forgive you? Nor your moth—"

"No, no—" the doctor interrupted. "You don't understand. He volunteered. He gave himself up to the Judge Advocate General so I could keep my commission."

Almost before Bashir had finished speaking, Garak had reached over to the table and picked up the photo on top. "When was this taken?" he asked, fishing for something to say. The idea of a father who would take such a punishment for a son... 

Bashir snorted. "Just before I left Earth to come to DS9. They came out to San Francisco. It's from outside some expensive restaurant my father insisted on." 

Garak took in the doctor's dismissive tone. "I noticed it's the only photo you have of them — that you had taken out to look at, anyway." 

"It is the only one I have. I... actually got rid of the rest. When I was younger." He held out his hand and Garak handed the photo over. "We don't get on." He stared down at the portrait in silence for a few moments. "When they arrived here in the station, I was furious." 

Once again Garak was caught up short. How had he managed to miss so much? "Your parents were here on the station?" 

"Oh yes," Bashir sighed. "It was what precipitated this whole mess. Wait, go back. Let me explain. Remember that Dr. Zimmerman I mentioned, who was going to be using me as the model for Starfleet's new Emergency Medical Hologram?"  

"A prestigious honor, if I recall." 

"That's what I thought... at first," the doctor agreed. "But then he started interviewing everyone here to learn about my personality... and _then_ he started with background checks and said he had to meet my parents." 

"And I imagine you weren't keen on that." 

"Damn right I wasn't!"

"Yet they arrived here anyway."

"He'd already asked them to come, the moment I'd agreed to be the EMH model." 

Garak attempted to work out how this could have led to Bashir's unmasking. "So... your parents arrived. Surely they didn't reveal anything to Dr. Zimmerman?" 

"Of course not, although I was afraid they would, not meaning to, if he prodded them enough or perhaps pulled some records." The doctor stared down at the photo in his hand. "We argued. Everything I'd been angry about all these years just poured out..." 

At this point Bashir stood up and began to pace in the space between living room and kitchen. "And so I went away angry and thought, 'OK, Jules, what do you do now?' While meanwhile, a bit later my parents went up to to the Infirmary to talk to me and apologize. They found me there and told me they wouldn't say a word about my enhancements. But there weren't telling me, they were telling the test hologram Julian Bashir." 

Garak blinked. "And they weren't alone in the room."

The doctor shook his head slightly. "Zimmerman and Miles were just around the corner."

"They set you up?" Garak asked. 

"No," Bashir replied. "Well, Miles didn't. I'll never know about Zimmerman. But I don't exactly think it was anyone's fault."

"What you Humans call 'bad luck,'" Garak suggested. "Better to think that overbearing doctor set you up. Then you can at least dream of revenge." 

Bashir chuckled darkly. "Believe me, these past few days, I have been." 

Noting that the doctor was still standing, Garak relocated himself to the chair and gestured towards the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable. I assume we're still not at the end of your tale?" 

"No," Bashir agreed, coming to the sofa and stretching himself down on it at full length. "You know, if I hadn't been so out of sorts, I would've realized you'd be the perfect person to hear me out on all this. You do love a good story. Which I do think this is, even though I would rather not be the main character." 

Garak inclined his head. "While I do revel in a good tale, believe me, I do not revel in the misfortunes of your ordeal. Recently or in the past." 

Bashir shifted slightly on the couch. "Thank you, Garak. That means a lot." 

"So, the next chapter?"

"Ah. Well, I went off with Miles to talk, while Zimmerman went off to report me." Bashir was staring at the ceiling, arms crossed. "He wanted an explanation, so I gave it to him. Briefly. That was pretty awful. Was the first time I've ever told anyone." 

"How did he take it?" Garak asked.

Bashir considered. "All right. He had questions, but he wasn't outright upset and he wasn't inherently prejudiced. But it just felt awful to tell someone. Even though I had longed to, in a way. I knew things were about to become a nightmare. My life was at an end."

In that moment Garak felt sympathy for his friend. He had come to similar crossroads of his life; moments when one knows that the road one has travel has ended for good, possibly because it's run off a cliff. And the only thing to do is to try to land gracefully.

"Only, as it turns out, my life miraculously _wasn't_ over," Bashir continued. "I'll skip through some details, including having to tell Sisko and a very uncomfortable staff meeting. Worf told me my actions had been 'dishonorable.' Ha!"

Garak could imagine the overly stern Klingon's tone exactly.

"Well, skip forward a bit and I go to turn in my resignation to the captain, before an investigation is launched and my commission is stripped from me and I'm sent home. I just wanted to leave quietly." Bashir shifted onto his side, facing Garak. "When I got up to the captain's office, my parents were there and they were connected by hologram link to the Judge Advocate General."

"They'd gone in there to make a plea for you," Garak surmised.

"That's right. And Dad offered to go to prison so I could keep my commission. I... didn't have any idea what to say to that." 

"No, I imagine you wouldn't. You're not on good terms." 

The doctor frowned. "To say the least. But, on the other hand, I feel... _bad_?"

Having just lost his own father, who he'd hated as much as he'd loved, Garak understood the sentiment. 

For the first time since they'd been sitting together that night, not counting Bashir's refreshment break, there was a gap in the conversation.  

It lasted about a minute before Bashir said, "Well, I think I've told it. My _tale_." He pulled himself up from the sofa into a sitting position. "There's likely an epilogue to be tacked on and a few missing scenes, maybe some flashbacks, but that's most of it I think."

"And what would be the title of this tale, doctor?" Garak inquired.

Bashir considered briefly. " _Jules and Kukalaka and Their Space Adventures_? Hmm, maybe not. How about _Hidden: A Doctor's Tale_. No, no... that's rubbish. Sounds like an expose." 

He drummed the fingers of one hand on his knee before slapping his palm flat. "Oh, I've got it: _How a Starfleet Doctor Went on a Bender After His Life Nearly Fell Apart and Ended Up in a Long Conversation with a Cardassian Tailor While Wearing Silk Pajamas_. He smirked. "That's more like it."

"I must say, doctor, I think you may be onto something with that last title, although perhaps it might be a trifle long." Garak rose from his chair. "And speaking of long, after this extended talk, it's late and I think we both ought to be going to bed, especially you as you're going back to work."

"You're right," Bashir agreed. "I'm starting to get sleepy. I haven't been sleeping well these past few nights, but maybe tonight will be different. I do feel a lot better after talking. Thank you." 

"I'm happy I was here to listen. Although I do hope he won't be faced with any similar calamity in future which requires such lengthy exposition on your part." 

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Me too." He got up from the sofa and was turning towards to door when something caught his eye. "Hello, what's that?" Walking up to the armchair, he bent and fished a data rod out from beneath it.

"Ah, doctor, I had completely forgotten it. I brought that with me when I came over. It's a novel I thought we could discuss together at our next lunch. Which could be tomorrow if...?"

"If?"

"If your reading skill and comprehension – and speed – are at anywhere near the level I think they are. Am I correct in thinking you've been downplaying this, even with me?" 

The doctor rubbed an ear nervously. "Honestly, only a little. In that type of discussion, especially with you, I have only a very slight advantage. But it is true I can read and process very quickly." 

"So… lunch?" Garak asked hopefully, handing over the data rod. 

"Yes, although I can't guarantee I will have read the book. I don’t when I’ll have the time between now and then. We could just talk. Then get on to the book next week." 

"True. One could say we proved that tonight, Bashir." 

Julian walked Garak to the door. "Thanks again for coming by." 

"And thank you, doctor, for letting me in." 

"In more than one sense." 

Garak stepped toward the door and it swished open for him. "Until lunch then. Goodnight."

_**The End** _

**Author's Note:**

> As you might have guessed from the content of this story, I am _really_ into the whole genetic manipulation / Julian-as-Augment plotline. Aside from Garak/Bashir and Post-Canon Cardassia, this is my favorite element to turn up in a fic. Shame, prejudice, messed up family relations, identity issues -- all of it makes for drama. Anyway, I wanted to share some of my favorite fics from that sub-genre. All worth a read! 
> 
> [The Manipulation of Julian Bashir](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11177843/1/The-Manipulation-of-Julian-Bashir) by The Tystie  
>  This relatively recent novel-length (2015 on ff.net) is one of the best DS9 fics -- or Star Trek fics -- I have _ever_ read. It is virtually ALL about Bashir's backstory, with the genetic manipulation, the Federation and Earth's stance on it, etc. And on top of it, there is superb world-building (of Earth!!!) and the deepest, best depiction of Benjamin Sisko I have ever seen. Also the most incredible Bashir ever. Seriously! One thing I will mention is that this is _not_ a Garak/Bashir story. Garak makes a cameo, that's it. But anyway... JUST READ IT! 
> 
> Going Native - [Part 1](http://regann.livejournal.com/339652.html) and [Part 2](http://regann.livejournal.com/339241.html) by Regann  
> Dating back to 2008 on LiveJournal, AU take on "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?" which both explores the idea of 1) What if Starfleet wasn't so lenient with Bashir and 2) Garak/Bashir slash. Nicely done!
> 
> [Got to Begin Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386448/chapters/5272862) by Vaiya  
> This 2014 fic is unfinished but has a very interesting first scene with (like my story) Garak visiting Bashir to talk to him after the events in "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?" -- only he brings up some moral stuff that damn, I had not thought of. And then he helps Julian out an unexpected way and... then things get into slash. Sadly, it just stops dead just as you're thinking it's going to get awesome.
> 
> [Perfect](http://yavanna.slashcity.net/perfect.htm) by Karon Colohan  
> The plot of this one isn't too far off from mine -- Garak visits Bashir in his quarters -- but things go from 0 to 60 in the friends-to-lovers department. Not sure on the date on this, but I'm guessing either late 90s or early 00s.


End file.
